Revenge and Things Like It
by kirasometimes
Summary: When Rachel Berry is invited to Santana Lopez's house, she knows nothing good can come out of it. Still, she never expected anyone to actually lock her in a closet. - AU; borrowed elements from Triple Dog.


**Title: **Revenge and Things Like It**  
Author: **Claddagh Ring

Disclaimer: I do not own _Glee _or _Triple Dog _or anything else recognizable in this story.

**AN: **This is a very loose spin off the movie _Triple Dog,_ and by loose I mean it really only borrows certain ideas and character interactions, but other than that, it veered way off of the movie's plot. So if you're one of the fifteen people in the world who have seen this movie, and you find yourself feeling like this story is somewhat familiar, that's why.

_obligatory smut warning_

* * *

There was no reason for Rachel Berry to be there and if her fathers hadn't found the invitation wedged between her geometry book and their renovation plans to turn the garage they never used into an apartment, she wouldn't have been. They didn't like her, she didn't like them, and the only reason Santana Lopez even knew of her existence was because she cheated off her lab reports in biology. At least she was smart enough to change some of the answers, though she wasn't smart enough to realize that Rachel was purposely answering questions wrong on their mid-term worksheet. So while Rachel received her first failing grade ever, Santana had managed to dock her own average down below school requirements and had been temporarily suspended from the Cheerios.

That should have been the end of it, until Quinn Fabray happened to glance at Santana's forged answers and pointed out that there was no way Rachel had really missed these questions. The next week was hell, and that was saying something considering that Rachel was already considered the school's freakiest loser and regularly took ,ore than her fair share of emotional and vaguely physical abuse. She would have preferred that Santana just tried to slap her down the hallway; that she was used to, but when her psuedo-girlfriend Brittany Pierce cornered Rachel instead, handing her a scorching red invitation to a sleepover of all things, Rachel didn't know how to react. Strangely she found herself nodding and scurrying away before anyone dropped another bomb on her.

She figured that was just supposed to be part of the joke, that she would take the invitation, show up, and get the door slammed in her face while Santana did whatever she wanted with her real friends. Not that Rachel was going to go; no, she was going to ignore it and spend another Friday night on her own, singing along to her iPod until she went hoarse and dreaming of the day she could leave Lima for New York City, where her ambitions might actually be appreciated.

But her fathers were concerned that she wasn't socially active and bribed her with a week's worth of Broadway tickets to shut up and go to this stupid party. She figured if they saw her get laughed out of the party she wasn't really supposed to be at anyway, then they might take pity on her and move her to Manhattan two years earlier than planned, never mind that she was only a junior in high school. Which was how she ended up, knocking begrudgingly on the Lopez's door with a one of her fathers' stupid "guest-warming" gift packages while they watched her from the car parked in the street.

A flash of blonde hair answered, Quinn's laugh fading quickly as she eyed Rachel standing on the front porch. "You actually came," she said, and if Rachel didn't know her better, she might actually have considered her smile to be somewhat sympathetic.

"My fathers made me," Rachel replied, clutching the box "hors d'oeuvres" – chips, salsa, and mini eclairs – to her chest nervously.

"Are they making you stay?" Quinn whispered, glancing over her shoulder quickly as if she didn't want to be overheard.

Rachel tried not to gape at her, but she wasn't even in the house yet and she already beyond confused. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Do you want to leave?' she questioned back, her eyebrow launching into a perfect arch.

"Look," Rachel sighed, not even bothering to hide her annoyance from her voice or her overall distaste for the entire situation. "If I'm not supposed to be here, and I suspect I'm not and it's just part of some petty prank Santana has come up with to pay me back for getting kicked off the squad, just tell me now so I can go home and pretend to cry in front of my dads about how the pretty popular girls don't like me so they'll leave me alone for the rest of the weekend."

"Okay Berry, I get it," Quinn said with a a shrug. "You've got a chip on your shoulder and you hate us. But why are you here?"

"I told you, my dads made me come," she hissed. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I guess if I don't, I'll get in trouble," Quinn smirked, waving sweetly to Rachel's dads as they drove off and abandoned her to brave the lion's den on her own. Quinn led her down the hall, past a room where someone was shouting loud, unnecessary obscenities. "That's San's brother, Blaine. He's home from college for the holidays, but there's some kind of problem with his scholarship and he may not get to go back."

"Blaine?" she repeated, the name somewhat familiar, as his door flew open, a phone pressed to his ear as he glared at the passing girls.

"What?" he snapped, scratching the back of his head, his unruly curls rebelling against him. His eyes flashed a dark green, hiding the golden hazel that might have made him look a little kinder, a little less imposing. There was a dark shadow lining his jaw, like he had forgotten to shave that morning, and mouth was pressed into a hard line.

"No-Nothing," Rachel muttered, hurrying past his room as he turned to yell into the phone once more.

"You should probably try to avoid him," Quinn suggested as she held another door open for Rachel. It was like walking into a Spirit Day at McKinley, an explosion of red and white and everywhere she looked the Cheerios logo was stamped onto every solid surface she could see. Maybe this was what being brainwashed felt like.

Santana was sitting on the bed, pulling Brittany's hair into their signature ponytail. "Hi Rachel!" Brittany greeted cheerfully before Santana tugged harshly on her long blonde locks and she quieted down into a pout.

"I see Lady Hobbit found her way here," Santana snipped, barely sparing a glance in Rachel's direction.

"Be nice San," Quinn instructed as she sat down on the floor at the foot of the bed. "You invited her; the least you could do is make her feel welcome."

"Shut up Gay-bray," Santana demanded as Quinn gaped indignantly, blushing a bright shade of pink and buried her nose in her English reading. Santana hopped off the bed and crossed the room over the Rachel, staring curiously at the box she still held in her arms. "Is this some kind of freaky Jewish peace offering?"

Rachel rolled her eyes and shoved the the box into Santana's arms. "It's called courtesy," she snapped, "and it's from my dads, not me. I don't owe you a peace offering, or anything else for that matter."

"Do you know where you are right now?" Santana laughed, snagging a bag of chips out of the bag and tossing them to Brittany. "You're in Lima Heights; you're in my house, and I can beats your ass down and no one will stop me. And do you know why? Because I runs this town Berry."

"If you just brought me here to threaten me, you could have done it at school," Rachel whispered, wrapping her arms around herself out of instinct more than actual fear of the angry cheerleader in front of her.

"I didn't bring you here to threaten you," Santana smirked, waltzing over to a desk half-hidden by her pom poms, extracting a bright green textbook identical to the one currently sitting in Rachel's locker at school. "I brought you here to fix my biology grade."

"Yo- you wha-t?" Rachel stammered as Santana shoved the biology book into her hands, nearly dropping it to the floor. "You can't be serious."

"I am," Santana said with a determined nod, steering Rachel towards the desk and forcing her to sit down. "Coach Sylvester managed to snag some primo extra credit for me, but I have prior engagements with my boys Jose and Cuervo this weekend and I'm just going wasting my time on this. But since you have no life and this is all your fault anyway, you can do it."

"I'm not- this isn't my fault!" Rachel argued.

"It's easier to just do it Rachel," Quinn said from the floor, sounding exhausted for some reason.

"You do it!" she screeched. "You're just as smart as I am and you're actually her friend."

"I'll still do it San," Brittany offered sweetly.

"Brits, you're dumber than an albino village of Barbie inbreds," Santana said, rolling her eyes. "I'd do it myself before I let you near my homework."

"What if we all did it?" Quinn suggested, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "Let's be honest, Santana. If you didn't rely on Rachel for half of your grades, you wouldn't be in this position and if you studied at all, you would have realized she was pulling one over on you. So I suggest we put the homework up, eat some pizza and watch Bring It On, and then worry about your paper while we get ready for Sugar's party."

Santana tried to argue but Brittany and Quinn managed to convince her to leave Rachel alone long enough to show Brittany how to use a website to order food and for Quinn to start the movie, which the three girls seemed to have memorized every word to. No one said a word to Rachel – though Brittany did offer to share her pillow with her after Quinn made room for her to sit down on the bed – and honestly, there wasn't too much more Rachel could ask for. At least no one was yelling ridiculous accusations at her. And it was even more ridiculous that Santana would even think Rachel would agree to this. It just showed what a spoiled rotten brat she was. Well Rachel wasn't going to let her get to her; there were some things she needed to take a stand on, and this seemed a good enough place to start.

There was a sharp knock on Santana's door, interrupting one of Kirsten Dunst's shrill monologues much to Rachel's relief, and the smell of pizza filled the room as Blaine let himself in. "One pepperoni, one garlic cheese, and a personal veggie," he announced with a smile that definitely suited him better than the scowl Rachel had seen him in earlier.

"Who the hell ordered veggie?" Santana asked.

"I did," Quinn sighed, passing the smallest box to Rachel and said, "I know it's not exactly vegan, but you shouldn't have to starve either."

"Who cares what she eats?" Santana yelled. "I had to pay for it!"

"I pay you back," Rachel said with a sigh, standing up and fumbling around in her back for her wallet. "I wouldn't want to owe you anything, after all."

"Please be a bigger bitch Santana," Blaine admonished, tossing a ten dollar bill in her direction. "There," he said with a wink in Rachel's direction, "it's on me."

"You don't- no, please-." Rachel faltered again, a blush creeping over her neck. "I can pay for it."

"You're a guest," he said with a shrug as if that explained everything.

"Are you practicing for your new career, is that it Blaine?" Santana laughed as he glared at her. "The world needs more college drop-outs masquerading as pizza delivery boys. Though personally, I think a hot dog stand would be more fitting."

"Great," he snapped, his voice as harder than Rachel was expecting. "We can park it next to your taco truck."

Santana grumbled something under her breath, turning away from her brother and turning the movie back up as Blaine dismissed himself. Rachel settled back down next to Quinn, offering her a slice of pizza out of habit even though she could see Quinn chewing on her own cheese slice. The room settled into a somewhat comfortable silence while the movie played and Rachel, despite her better judgment, actually found herself torn between the Toros and the Clovers during the grand finale. It wasn't a terrible movie, she supposed; just not something she would have ever watched on her own.

"Sugar's already texting me," Brittany announced as the credit rolled. "She says we're late."

"There's no such thing as late," Santana laughed even as she hurried to her closet and started rifling through her dresses, "but Puckerman likes to hoard all the best booze for himself so we better get going."

"Rachel, do you want to come?" Brittany asked brightly as she scooted over to her and began twisting her dark hair around, bringing out her natural curls. "I could do your hair and Quinn is really good with makeup."

"I think I'm just going to go home actually," Rachel said with a small smile. "Parties aren't really my forte."

"Because she's a geek Brits," Santana shouted from the depths of her closet, "and she's not going to a party when she has my homework to do."

"Let it go San," Quinn sighed, shaking her head as Santana held up a purple dress for her. "I'll do it for you, just leave Rachel alone. You had your fun, it's over."

"Whatever, I'm bored with her anyway," Santana said flippantly as she came out, having somehow changed into a tight black sheath dress that seemed covered in zippers. "Actually," she smiled mischievously at Rachel, "you should come. I think I even have something you could wear."

Rachel tried to protest but somehow she found herself caught up in a whirlwind of hairspray and lip gloss, feeling completely overwhelmed and numb all at the same time. This was not at all what she had been expecting to come out of the night. Brittany had a natural effervescence that even Santana couldn't dim and while Quinn could be described as borderline aloof, she was friendly enough that Rachel couldn't help but laugh as she carefully lined her lips with a brighter red than Rachel would have ever dared.

"There, perfect," Quinn announced, spinning her around to look in Santana's mirror. It was the first time in a long time she had ever seen herself made up, and Rachel had to admit, with the dark smokey eyeshadow and colorful lips framed by softly falling waves around her face, she did look good. A little commercial, a little typical, but good.

"Now you just need to show a little skin," Santana tugged at the sleeve of Rachel's sweater, then grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her out of the room then called over her shoulder to Quinn and Brittany. "Take Quinn's car and go without us. I'll have to go through my dresses from junior high for the hobbit here and it could take awhile. To the basement we go."

Rachel was more than a little wary about venturing off with Santana, but the grip she had on her arm made it clear she didn't have a choice. And the basement was relatively well lit, with only a few stairs to climb her way up if she needed to make a quick escape. Santana didn't say much at all, just muttered to herself as she pulled out box after box until finally ripping the tape off of one. She began throwing shirts and shorts and Rachel was a bit flabbergasted when she realized that Santana was _actually _going through her old clothes to find something that might fit her.

"Here," she cried triumphantly. In her fist was a what looked like a ball of scrap fabric, but as she shook it out, Rachel could see it was in fact a very, very short blue... something covered in lace and chiffon. "It's supposed to be a shirt," Santana explained, throwing it at Rachel, "but you're so absurdbly short, it should work on you."

"I can't just wear a shirt!" Rachel gasped, turning it over in her hands, eying the slender straps that were supposed to be sleeves of some kind. "There's barely enough of this to be called a shirt."

"You'll wear it and you'll look hot," Santana argued back, pushing her behind the stairs with instructions to change. "God, you're such a prude."

It took a lot of cajoling and insults until Rachel was annoyed enough to change. The "dress" barely covered her ass, no matter how much time she spent pulling at it, but Santana whistled appreciatively and manhandled her out of the room before Rachel could even make a grab for her sweater. "Now, here's the thing," Santana was saying as she steered her through the house, "I don't like you. Brittany is too dumb to realize how incredibly obnoxious you are and Quinn has basically turned into a human marshmallow since she put Beth up for adoption. Basically my point is, I don't care if they seem to think you're worth being nice too; I don't want to be nice to you."

"But you are anyway?" Rachel said in her confusion as Santana stopped in front of her brother's room, knocking once lightly before kicking open the door and flipping on the light in less than a second. Blaine wasn't there, though she didn't remember hearing him go out, and Santana's cruel grin seemed to widen when she noticed it too.

"You might be dumber than Brittany," Santana smirked, her hands shoving Rachel roughly forward until she stumbled into Blaine's closet. Rachel stumbled over a pile of dirty clothes and fell to the floor in a heap. "I want to party and I can't do that if Quinn and Brittany are babysitting you all night. So I guess you'll just have to stay here instead."

"Santana!" Rachel screeched as Santana slammed the door shut. There was a scraping noise and something crashed into the door from the other side; no matter how hard she tried, Rachel couldn't turn to knob or get the door to budge. "This isn't funny! Let me out."

"You should have just done my homework, Berry!" Santana shouted. "Have fun in there."

"Santana!" she shouted again, banging on the unmoving door. No one answered back and she screamed in frustration, fighting back the tears that were already threatening to fall. She should have known this was going too well; she should have known something like this would have happened. Except she expected to just be made fun of and tossed out to the curb, not... this. Who did things like this? Whose brain even worked like this? It was just astounding to her.

She sat down, kicking clothes away from her in disgust, tears falling freely down her face at the point. She couldn't even do anything; her phone was somewhere in Santana's basement and she was stuck in a strange house, in a freaking closest no less, with no one around to hear her and no one who would even care. And she had no way of telling how long she would be there; she didn't wear a watch, not that there was any light in the closet to see anything with. She couldn't even find the switch.

She just wanted to go home, to curl up in her bed under the covers and sleep until her high school graduation set her free and she could scurry off to New York and start her real life. Her life where the Santana Lopez's of the world were waiting for her to come out of a Broadway stage door just to catch a glimpse of the girl on all the posters.

"You could have least let me keep my clothes on!" she yelled out loud if only to break the deafening silence after what had to be at least an hour The door flew open and she bit back a startled scream, cowering in the corner until she could dislodge her heart from her throat.

"Well that's disappointing," Blaine laughed, standing up on his toes to reach for the frayed cord that turned on the closet light. "I expected to find a naked girl in here."

"So you just fling the door open?" she glared, tugging frantically at the hem of her dress as she tried to at least cover some of her thighs. "What kind of person does that?"

"The same kind of person who hides in a person's closet?" he offered, a smirk so similar to Santana's on his face, she was filled with the sudden desire to hit someone. "What are you doing in there?"

"Your horrible sister locked me in here," Rachel snapped, her frustration boiling into pure anger as she stood up hastily, only to trip over a pile of striped shirts and stumble into the wall. "Would it kill you to fold your clothes? Or at least take the dirty ones out so it wouldn't smell so bad in here?"

"Yeah, San can be a bitch," Blaine shrugged, completely ignoring her needless yelling at him, as if things like this happened to him all the time; and for all she knew, maybe it did growing up with Santana. "If it helps," he continued, offering her his hand to pull her to her feet, "she's not really my sister. My dad married her mom when I was seven. She's been a pain in the ass ever since."

"She's a terrorist," Rachel amended, her hand clasped tightly around his wrist as he helped her out of the closet. "She's abusive, bullying, emotionally deficient and I hate her more than I've ever hated anything, and that includes the obnoxious couple who sat front row with me at Wicked and ruined the entire show for me."

"Then why are you friends with her?" he wondered, flopping down in his desk chair as she started to pace around the thankfully clean bedroom.

"I'm not!" she screamed indignantly. "I'm only here because my dads made me come and the only reason she even deigned to invite me into her freaking white trash palace is so I could do her biology assignment because she's too stupid to do it herself."

"Oh," he said in a low whistle and a light of realization flickered through his eyes. "You're Rachel."

She paused, her anger giving way to a kind of anxiety; because there was just something in the way he said her name, like a missing piece in this whole crazy puzzle had clicked in his head. She was suddenly worried; maybe, despite his seemingly easy going attitude, he was just as vindictive as his sister. "What do you mean, I'm Rachel?"

"You're the girl who got my perfect little sister kicked off the Cheerios," he answered with a note of admiration, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "and finally gave her back a taste of her bitter attitude. She's been in a rage over you since I came home last week. You're practically my hero right now. Although..."

His voice trailed off, his eyes canvassing her slowly, lingering over her in a way that would have been uncomfortable from anyone else if he didn't look so studious about it. Like he wasn't interested in leering at her, and she almost wished he would. It would make more sense at least. "Although what?" she prompted after a few moments when he didn't continue on his own.

"I pictured you differently," he finally said, his eyes finally meeting hers after a long gaze at her exposed legs. "Like with glasses at least."

"I wear glasses at home," she muttered, wringing her hands together.

"I bet they're cute," he asserted just as the phone rang. With a groan, he swiveled around in his chair and grabbed at his cell, answering with gruff greeting. It was like he had flipped a switch and she had completely disappeared from his world in less than a second. Rachel sighed; it was so typical she wanted to laugh. No one ever noticed her unless she was the only one in the room, and even then they didn't always.

She should just leave, she thought, but she hesitated for a moment by the door as he started arguing with whoever was on the other end of the line. He sounded upset and... well, he had been relatively nice to her, despite the fact his crazy sister locked her in his closet. He could have taken it much worse, could have screamed at her, laughed at her, or a million other things other than be a decent human being and help her. And as he slumped over the desk, his head in his hand as he whispered angrily into the phone about being used and deserving better, she felt somewhat obligated to stay, to make sure he was going to be okay. It was just common decency, after all.

"More problems with your school?" she asked, the cringed because obviously he hadn't been talking to his school like that, and definitely not so late in the evening.

"God, I wish," he said with a roll of his eyes. "That I could handle right now. That I can almost control, but my cheating ex-boyfriend trying to apologize for getting caught; I'm just not up for that right now."

"Oh," Rachel gulped, unsure of what exactly to say. "Sorry."

"Whatever," Blaine sighed, picking up a folder off his desk and flipping it open only to have everything fall out. It was just instinct to pick them up, she figured, as she found herself back on the floor, sorting through papers and handing them off to him as quickly as she could. "Um, thanks," he said as he took them from her. "You didn't have to do that."

"You didn't have to help me out of your closet," she said nonchalantly, stacking up the last of the papers, her eyes automatically reading the header before she could stop herself. "This is a full ride scholarship to NYU," she remarked, her eyes going wide as she skimmed through the first paragraph, "for four years! This is incredible."

"Yeah, it would be," he grumbled, tugging the papers out of her hand, "except they're trying to renege on it because I'm not living in the dorms next semester, even though they're the ones who kicked me out because they have too many freshman and transfers to house."

"Can they do that?" she questioned, grabbing the papers off his desk before he could stop her and began pouring over the details. "I mean, it's not like you dropped out or anything."

"No, but if I don't have this scholarship, I might as well."

"Right, with your hot dog stand," she said dismissively as he started to laugh. "What?"

"Nothing," he chuckled, joining her on the bed, his chin propped on her shoulder as if he were trying to read the papers in her hand as well. "Santana just thinks it's funny to make fun of my bisexuality when she's an angry repressed lesbian herself, though I would probably get castrated if she ever found out I told you that."

"I could care less about who she's sleeping with," Rachel insisted, carefully setting a page next to her on the bed. "Besides, the entire school knows she's hooking up with Brittany. The sex tape may have had something to do with that."

"Gross," Blaine groaned, his nose crinkling as he pulled away from her. "That's not something I need to know about my sister."

"No one needed to know it, trust me," Rachel giggled. "What's your grade point average?"

"That's kind of personal," he said and he sounded so serious, for a moment Rachel was afraid he was actually offended until he poked her in the side and smiled. "Relax," he instructed. "It's 3.2; mostly B's but I have a fair amount of A's in there as well."

"Okay, well they definitely can't take your scholarship away because of your grades," she said with a slight giggle, though were that came from, she wasn't sure, "and there's nothing in here about housing requirements, so you could argue that with them if you wanted."

"No, I tried that but then they said since the scholarship pays for housing, it's an 'implied requisite'," he explained, his finger tracing over a paragraph at the bottom of the page in her hand, "but I thought this says that if I decline housing, it would just withhold that portion of the scholarships since I wouldn't be using it. Which is fair, you know?"

"Yeah," Rachel nodded, her tongue trapped between her teeth as she continued to read. "But this says you can't be docked for any 'occurring situation for which the enrolled student is not responsible'. You said the university asked you to give up housing right?"

"Let me see that," he said hurriedly, grabbing the papers from her so quickly she nearly jumped out of her skin. His eyes scanned the paper rapidly, his brow furrowed together as he studied the words on the page. She could practically see his brain working, pieces falling into place, and his smile widen and his entire face lit up as he let out a noise of triumph. "You're a genius!" he exclaimed.

And out of nowhere, his hands cupped the sides of her cheeks and he kissed her. It was so short, barely a thing at all, because his fingers fell from her face almost immediately and he was back to laughing at the paper in his hand, but she felt frozen in place. She literally couldn't move, just sat on his bed, her jaw open in a silent gape as a violent blush spread from her neck to her ears.

"Oh shit," he jumped as he turned back to her, his eyes as wide as hers felt. "Rachel, I'm sorry, I didn't- not that I wouldn't- I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry."

Her eyes narrowed unintentionally, effectively breaking whatever spell she'd been put under as she stood up, her hands smoothing down the front of her dress. "No, right, I know," she muttered, shaking her hand out of his grasp as he tried to hold onto her. "It doesn't matter. It never matters. No one thinks of me like that anyway."

"Hey, I just meant that I didn't mean to surprise you," Blaine insisted, wedging himself between her and the door before she had a chance to escape out into the hallway. His palm rested against the wall, less than an inch away from her hips and he was leaning into her; he smelled of pleasantly spiced coffee, she noticed and while her instinct was to back away, she couldn't get her feet to move. "It's not like you're unattractive or anything. Maybe I did think of you like that."

"You barely know me," she said, shaking her head, because that was impossible; no one ever spared her a second thought unless it was to decided how best to torture her and there was no way this strange, random boy whose closet she had been held captive in would think anything of her other than she was some kind of pitiful charity case.

"You barely know me," he reminded her, "but you're pretty quick to judge what I think, aren't you?"

"Fine," she began, "we don't know each other, which is incidentally my point. For all I know, all you see is a naïve high schooler in a short dress and for all you know, I could think you're just Santana's creepy older brother. Maybe you're only paying attention to me because she asked you too, to screw me over a little more. Or maybe I'm just a good way to get back at your ex-boyfriend."

"Or maybe you think I'm just a good way to get back at Santana," he interjected, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "Or maybe I think you're actually pretty smart and seem like a good person, and I'm sorry my sister has been giving you a hard time and someone obviously needs to be nice to you because you clearly don't know how to handle it."

"You are- why- I don't need to get back at Santana," she finished, the wounds weightless and dumb even to her ears. "And even if I did, why would I use you to do it?"

"Because nothing would irritate her more if she knew you actually had a good time after what she did to you," Blaine whispered in her ear, his hand leaving the wall to rest on her hip. Her breathe caught in her chest as she felt his lips graze against her skin just under her jaw. She thought he might actually try to kiss her again and for a brief, panic-stricken moment, she wasn't sure how she would react; would she let him, would she push him away? It didn't matter in the end, because he instead pulled away from her, leaning against his open door with his arms crossed.

She sucked in a weak breath, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Well good then," she said slowly. "We're agreed."

"On what?"

"I- I don't know," she groaned in frustration as she stepped around him. "I'm going to find my clothes." He didn't even try to stop her as she walked down the hall, though she noticed him staring after her with those bright, sparkling eyes when she turned the corner to the kitchen. Even in the basement, she could swear she felt his eyes on her as she gathered up her pile of clothing that Santana had mercifully left alone. She pulled the sweater on over her head, slipping the stupid dress from her body and stepped into her own skirt, feeling like she was falling into her own skin again, but she still couldn't shake the feeling Blaine had left in her.

And he was still there when she came back up the stairs, his expression curious as she passed him to go into Santana's room, looking for her the rest of her belongings so she could leave. It took less than a minute before she had her bag thrown over her shoulder and she was back in the hallway and once again caught by Blaine's eyes. "What?" she cried in exasperation.

"Nothing," he shrugged, tearing his gaze away to stare at Santana's open door, "except you should probably close that unless you want to give her another reason to come after you."

She sighed again, dropping her bag on the floor and stormed the few steps down the hall again, tugging harshly on the door only to have it jump out of her hands as it hit the frame. She tried again, but the door just didn't seem to want to catch in the lock. "It's stuck," she turned to yell at Blaine, only to find him already behind her, reaching around for the doorknob himself.

"It does that," he laughed quietly and there was something so... warm about the low noise coming from the back of his throat that seemed to settle into her stomach, which was so singularly unexpected for her that she didn't really know what to do with it. If she were as smart as he had said she was, she would have walked away, or buried it down to ignore until she got home. But he was right there, and he smelled like the coffee shop she liked to read scripts in, and he was nice. And he had kissed her first. And that counted for something, right?

"Shut up," she muttered, more to herself than to him but when his mouth fell open, perhaps to protest, she braided her fingers in his hair, tugging him forward and down until his lips crashed over hers in a deliberate and bruising way. She didn't even know what she was doing anymore, or why, but as she slid her tongue into his surprised mouth, she couldn't find it in herself to care about anything except the way his hands fell to her waist, pressing her back into the door frame until his knee slid between hers, forcing her hips to line up against his and her neck craned back, kissing him as deeply as she could.

"Just for my own peace of mind," he muttered against her lips as they broke apart for a moment, "you're sixteen, right?"

"Would it matter?" she whispered, catching the edge of his ear between her teeth.

"Not if you do that again," he groaned, his hand on her waist sliding under the back of her sweater, and the feeling of his skin on hers was overpowering in the best way, "but I don't think that's a plausible excuse if you're not."

"I'm seventeen," she affirmed with a nip to his bottom lip. "Just for my peace of mind, you're not doing this because of Santana or anything right?"

"Trust me," he laughed, his fingers snaking around to tickle her ribs, the hem of her sweater gathered in his hands. In one swift motion, he pulled it over her head and for a split-second she thought maybe this was happening to fast, that she should be a little more discreet or at least take a moment to feel as exposed as she really was. But it was the look in his eyes and his suddenly hoarse voice that chased those thoughts away. "My sister is the last thing on my mind."

"Even though we're in her room?" she gasped as he dipped down, catching the skin stretched tight over her collarbone, his mouth working her nerves into a frenzy so that she melted into him. Her hands clutched at his shirt – why did he still have that on? - as his lips fell to the swell of her breast, his tongue tracing just under the curve of her bra.

"I figured," he said with a voice full of mischief, "there's not a thing in this world she could to you that would be worse than me fucking you on her bed."

She let out a loud giggle as his hands hooked around her legs, hoisting her up around his waist before he deposited her on Santana's bed, throwing half the pillows around the room before she managed to pull him back down to settle between her legs, her skirt hiking up even further than the dress she'd been wearing earlier. And when his hips rolled into her, she could already feel him through her, eliciting a deep moan from somewhere within her she didn't even know existed. Her nails scraped down his back, snagging on the cotton of his shirt before she nearly ripped it in trying to get it off because every little movement he made pressed him into her again and she couldn't even think, just tear at the snap in his jeans instead.

He took it as a sign of encouragement, slipping the straps of her bra down her arms as his hands worked the hook loose and almost as quickly as she had lost her shirt, she was laid bare underneath him. "Blaine," she whined as his fingers teased over her breasts, circling her nipple with his tongue, his hot breath cooling against her skin until she was essentially a breathless mess. And he seemed intent on teasing her, his hands never venturing any lower than her navel even though her hips were practically locked with his and she knew if she could feel him, he could feel her soaked through her underwear as well. And God, he felt incredible already but it just wasn't enough. It just wasn't fair.

Something inside of her took over, something that needed to show him she wasn't going to take being toyed with, even if it felt as good as it did with him. She pushed him off of her before shoving him back down on the bed and straddling his hips, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she pushed his jeans down just enough to reveal the bulge in his boxers. One hand went to it immediately, palming him through the fabric and she gave a light squeeze, smirking as he gulped, his tongue flickering out to wet his lips.

"It's not nice being teased," she giggled, grinding down on him, her free hand keeping her steady on his chest. "It's not nice making me beg either."

"I'm sorry," he swallowed thickly, his hands guiding her forward roughly under her own eyes threatened to roll back in her head as she slid against his hardening cock, and she suddenly felt so very empty. She needed him, ached for him, and she didn't even give it a second thought as she threw herself off of him. She stepped out of her skirt as he watched her, his eyes dark and gleaming as his own hand dipped under the elastic band of his boxers, gripping himself. He gave a strangled grunt as she shimmied out of her underwear, and she grinned at him, crawling back on top of him. She tapped his hips and worked the rest of his clothing off before she leaned over him, hovering over his lips.

"You said you were going to fuck me," she said, her hand sliding between them, replacing his hand with hers as she stroked firmly, watching his eyes turn from a dark stormy jade into green so dark it might have been black but for the blazing amber flecks that still shone through. "So fuck me."

He latched onto her hips, lifting her up just enough to line them up, and he must have seen it in her face when he found the right spot, because she didn't even have a chance to adjust to the feel of his head disappearing into her before he was sheathed inside, slamming into her hard and fast and perfect and everything she needed. And he did it again as a strangled gasp fell from her lips, her nails digging into his chest as she scrambled for some kind of support, her back arching as she drove herself down on him over and over again.

He managed to flip them over without missing a beat, and her legs hooked around his back as his arms wrapped around hers, grasping onto her shoulder, plunging into her with such a force it felt like it shook through her entire body. She clawed at his shoulder blades, skin turning to fire under her touch and he muttered a string of profanities she should have found offensive, but it only seemed to make her cling to him more, tighter, wetter until she was sure she would break into a million pieces before she was done with him.

She nearly bit through his lip when she came, but he didn't even seem to care, didn't stop at all as she rode him through her high, and with a few more urgent thrusts, he spilled into her; that void she felt earlier disappeared, staying even as he slipped out of her. He was pressing featherlight kisses to her cheek, her ear, the line of her jaw, the crook of her neck, and she couldn't help but curl into his embrace as they lay together, trying to catch their breaths. His fingers trickled down the dip of her spine, sending small shivers coursing throughout her body and as she reached for the bright red blanket that had fallen to Santana's floor, she was almost startled to remember exactly where she was; that this had only happened out of some twisted attraction and a strange kind of revenge.

She couldn't bring herself to regret it though, when he craned his head to grin at her, hand threading though her hair. "I think we might have thoroughly destroyed her room," he announced, stretching over her as he reached for a pillow.

"That was the idea, right?" she laughed, ducking away from him as he pressed a quick kiss to her temple.

"I don't know what you were thinking about," he teased, his hand slipping under the cover and tracing up the inside of her thigh until his thumb pressed firmly against her clit, making her let out a light groan as a familiar heat started to to build up low in her stomach again, "but my idea was to make you scream."

It was almost like he was issuing her a challenge as he slid two fingers into her without any other warning and as hard as it was to hold back her moan, she did, biting down on her lip. He just smirked, and she would have shoved him away if he hadn't at that exact moment, crooked his fingers up, pressing into her wall in a way that made her hips betray her and roll down onto his hand.

"Do you need a break?" he whispered as she keened even further into him. "You could go put that dress back on, have a little fun in that."

She did shove him away at that, a devilish smile stretching across her face as she stood up, searching out her underwear before slipping them on. "I'll put it back on," she agreed, throwing his jeans at him, "if you take me to a party."

"A party?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

"A big party," she grinned. "Alcohol, teenage debauchery, and a chance to show you off."

"Let me guess?" he said as he got out of the bed, finally catching on. "Santana's there?"

"And I know for a fact she likes to man the seven minutes in heaven closet," Rachel said.

"You have closest kink?" he laughed as she hit him in the arm, before catching her around the waist and pulling her flush against his bare chest, lips searching hers out for a surprisingly sweet kiss that seemed to linger long after it was over.

So it wasn't the most ideal situation, and maybe she shouldn't have been there in the first place, but she couldn't exactly complain with the way things had turned out.

* * *

_I write, you read, you review, and I'll write more; except not for this because this is a one-shot. 3_


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